An Answer to David Brin
Briefly, he's convinced that the Star Wars saga teaches elitism as a positive political philosophy and a worthy goal for the young to strive for. Brin goes on to offer us a list of the questionable moral lessons he gleans from Star Wars:
* Elites have an inherent right to arbitrary rule; common citizens needn't be consulted. They may only choose which elite to follow.
* 'Good' elites should act on their subjective whims, without evidence, argument or accountability.
* Any amount of sin can be forgiven if you are important enough.
* True leaders are born. It's genetic. The right to rule is inherited.
* Justified human emotions can turn a good person evil.
Brin is right in the sense that each of these 'lessons' is deeply embedded in each Star Wars scene and in the saga's overall story line. But, as I hope to demonstrate here, each and every one of these 'lessons' must exist in the Star Wars universe. They flow naturally from the nature of that universe. I will support my contention later by analyzing examples of the ways in which that universe is made manifest to us in Lucas' movies. Then, I'll give you my best guess as to what Lucas is really up to.
Hint: The Star Wars universe is not our universe.
Brin almost stumbles into the truth when he is "forced to admit that demigod tales resonate deeply in the human heart." He cites Joseph Campbell's wide-ranging studies of folk tales and sagas from around the world. Everywhere Campbell looked, he found the same thing: stories in which "...the hero begins reluctant, yet signs and portents foretell his pre-ordained greatness. He receives dire warnings and sage advise from a mentor, acquires quirky-but-faithful companions, faces a series of steepening crises, explores the pit of his own fears and emerges triumphant to bring some boon/talisman/victory home to his admiring tribe/people/nation."
Sound like any stories you've heard?
Instead of rewrites of ancient stories of great deeds done by Heroes to the Manor Born, Brin commends to us the genuinely modern and revolutionary model of storytelling, better known as science fiction. These stories tell the tale of the speed-up of scientific and technological progress, of entire societies reshaping themselves into patterns unrecognizable within one human lifetime, of the emergence of a kind of rough, egalitarian meritocracy, of the emergence of humans out of Mother Earth as they spread out into the Solar System and the Milky Way (through technological wizardry, instead of the other kind) of the rise and triumph of common men and women to shared greatness.
Sound like any other stories you've heard? (Hint: Think of America.)
I must admit that science fiction stories are the kind of stories I prefer. This is because philosophically I agree with and believe in the aspects of science fiction Brin believes in. I am a science fiction fan because fundamentally I'm an optimist. I really do think that humans are doing great things and will do even greater things in the future through the agency of advancing science and technology. But, I admit, that I also enjoy the occasional well-crafted fantasy.
Why? Because I'm not that far removed from the mythical magic universe in which our ancestors lived their lives for tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands, or perhaps even millions of years. And--need I remind you?--neither are you.
Fantasy is the name we fans of speculative fiction give to those stories which are essentially rewrites of the ancient stories that enthralled our ancestors. The oldest, most satisfying stories. The kind of storieis that are so deeply rooted in us that there may be some genetic component to the pleasure we derive from them.
Fantasy is the oldest form of storytelling. Its underlying assumptions mirror the beliefs of our ancestors: The World is dangerous. Magic is real. The Spirits/Gods are real. Some are malicious. Some are sly tricksters. Some are benevolent. The People are weak and vulnerable. The Tribe is weak and vulnerable. The magic-imbued Warriors of the tribe are gifts from the Gods. The World can easily destroy the tribe. Only the magical Warriors can save the tribe. And so on, and on. We have no idea how ancient such stories are, onnly that they somehow fit human experience--often brutal experience.
There is tantalizing evidence from genetic research that our ancient ancestors walked a genetic tightrope. We six billion human beings, spread out around the world, are much more closely related genetically as an aggregate than memebers of neighboring bands of chimpanzees are to one another. Researchers are convinced that this means only a few ancient human families survived the gauntlet of ages of travail while most died without issue. If this hypothesis lies anywhere near the truth, our traditional storytelling reflects slivers of cultural memory of genuine peril--the threat of extinction.
Traditional storytellers frequently insisted on the truth of their tales, even though they may have had cause to question the veracity of such stories. But their literal truth may never have been that much of an issue. Perhaps the stories as stories told the People what they really needed to know.